2013.07.14 - And The Walls Came Tumbling Down
It's late on a Saturday night -- the wee hours. The bars are making last call. They're not far from closing up for the night. But, still, the booming bass sounds of various DJs can be heard... even blocks away from the club district. Sat at the edge of partytown, Brooks Rd. runs diagonally across the city, connecting the warehouse district to the mob quarter. Even on a Saturday night, it's fairly deserted. But not entirely so. On the roof of an ostensibly abandoned low rise about halfway down the block, two shadowy figures meet in the shadow of the rooftop access door. No. They're not that visible from the street. They intend it to be that way. But they're there, nonetheless. And they're speaking in those quiet, hush tones that would suggest they don't want to be overheard. That being the case, they've probably picked a good place for that. The only real indication that something fishy might be going on is the pair of mooks standing casually on the street outside the boarded entrance to the building, smoking. Gotham City. Again. The Ghost is starting to think there was some kind of grand puppeteer pulling his strings to get him over here across the river. He was still on the hunt for better gear, and given his run-ins recently with the likes of Asgardian dark elves, flying, energy blasting mutants, and nearly invulnerable barbedwire wearing thugs, he knew he'd better find some, and fast. First on the list: Some kind of body armor, because, well, he can't stay phased in 'ghost form' all the time and expect to get anything done. So here he is in Gotham, hoping to track down the floating market. Dirtbags always had access to decent gear, and didn't care who they sold it to. Not that he had intended to actually -buy- anything, but Gotham is not his city, and he has become hopelessly lost, finding himself, tonight, in this neighborhood. He spies the two goombas outside the building, and immediately realizes there's likely something going on here. Heck maybe he even lucked out and found the market he'd been searching for. Fog begins to form around him as his body starts to fade from view as if slowly disintigrating. Once fully invisible, he begins to move as silently as he knows how toward the building...you know, investigating. Gotham is a city of broken dreams. The avenger of dreams stands silent on a rooftop at an angle to the shadowed figures. He stands perfectly still, his hat doing nothing to make his gas-masked visage seem any less surreal. No one can see that, beneath the mask, his eyes are closed. Meditating. Listening. Cutting through the noise and junk and pollution of the city, The Sandman waits for fate to lead him. He knows he was meant to be here, the dreams have told him that much, that laughing devil in the graffiti across the street the same as the one that mocked him in slumber. The tang of cinnamon and soy in the air, resulting from the shared walls of a bakery and a Chinese restaurant, are the final key. He is where Fate would have him be. Now he needs only wait... Bars? THE PERFECT PLACE FOR GABBY MALONE, PRO-CLASS DRUNKARD. Except she's not there. At least not anymore. She won a match earlier in the evening, and some mobsters made a lot of money off of that result (but not all of them). 'Fighting Irish' was thus treated to some drinks. Which, when all was said and done, left the mobsters plastered (and with wallets depleted of much of their winnings). Also, even though the tiny woman drank like twenty times more than everyone else in the bar combined, Gabby is the one who walks out relatively steadily before the bar even closes. The short red-head is more than just someone who engaged in illegal underground fighting, however. She is also someone who protects certain neighborhoods of Gotham whenever she can. While she doesn't go looking to be a hero most of the time, she also doesn't mind finding trouble. So when one of the mafia goons who was buying her drinks drunkenly spills information that Gabby was looking for (with only a little bit of coaxing. It's not hard to let a guy look down your shirt when you're 4'8", and given how falling-down drunk the guy was, he'd have agreed to almost anything without remembering it the next day), she takes it upon herself to borrow a jacket and a hat, climb on her motorcycle, and drive out with a case of beer like she's making a delivery. Only the 'delivery' in this case is to a building where a meeting is taking place. See, she's looking for information about the Tonetti family, and inquiring with rivals instead of the Tonettis themselves seems like a good idea. Or maybe that's the alcohol that still hasn't quite worked its way out of her system. After pulling up and parking across the street, the red-head pulls down her baseball cap, climbs off her bike, and starts heading towards one of the guys at the door. "One of you guys named, 'Rocko'?" she asks from a respectful distance. If the answer is yes, she hefts the case of cold beer and says, "Tony told me you and your pals might like some drinks and some company." Gabby can do things other than punch people. She can be clever. She can work the underworld circuit. She just usually prefers punching. And if this doesn't work out, she might resort to such. A couple people have gone missing lately in her neighborhood. Someone told Gabby some goons showed up and took them. Further investigation has led Gabby to the Tonettis, but she doesn't know if they're responsible or not. That's why she's trying to get more info. Because people don't 'disappear' from her home turf when she can do something about it. Though disappearing ghosts is another matter, and she can't really do anything about the mysterious unseen stranger except perhaps unwittingly distract these guards a bit. There has been a couple of trucks that have been robbed from Tousaint's company, and all evidence points to the Mafia in Gotham. Even if there was no evidence, he was shown the "signs"to come to Gotham tonight. It takes him longer that he would have liked to found out about the meeting that was going on tonight. "I have always hated Gotham. It such a cesspool." Othello thinks to himself, when he arrives at the location. He sets up surveillance to keep an eye out on the coming and goings of the meeting. He is not really expecting to see anything interesting, until he see a man disappear, then a short woman come to make a deliver. Huntress approaches aforementioned low rise from a different path: the rooftops. Directed to this location by Oracle, she reaches a building adjacent to her target and moves much more stealthily until she can spot the two talking by the roof access door. There's no way she can actually get over there from where she is without being noticed, so she settles for getting as close as she can on her chosen rooftop. "Can't get any closer," she whispers, trusting the comm unit in her ear to pick up her words and carry them to Oracle. "Can you pick up what they're saying from here, or should I pin 'em like bugs in a display?" Oracle's digital voice is light in Huntress' earpiece. "My intel says Frank Williams is nothing more than a two-bit second storey man who's not more than a shade above your common mook." In other words, he's a low-rent cat burglar. And likely the sort that would make Selina Kyle snort with disdain... right before she pushed him off the ledge for being an asshole. But, he's only one of the two figures on the roof. The second is a woman. "Lainey McCall, however, is a regular Carmen Sandiego." Of where-in-the-world fame. "She's recently started peddling highly classified information to some relatively sophisticated international agencies -- none of them friendly to the Greater Good. We really need to get close enough to hear. Is there any way you can approach from the opposite side of that roof access point and come up on them from behind cover?" Because Oracle really wants that intel. The two body guards at the base of the building are speaking quietly with each other when Malone approaches. One of the guys pushes off the red brick wall, his hand drifting toward the heavy lump under his jacket. "Ain't no one here named Rocko, lady," he says, his voice gruff. A beat. "But, you can leave the beer." Because, hell. Why not? His partner grins at that, also shifting his weight. It's pretty obvious he's armed, too. There are others sat out in the darkness, however. This particular meet is well-planned. Ms. McCall doesn't leave much to chance. A radio transmission whispers softly through the air, static crackling in the shadows, as more distant guards give each other the heads up about the attention being paid to the building guards. And then there's Gabby. The Ghost watches the diminutive woman arrive, and start talking up the two torpedos at the door. He'd be distracted too...well, okay he WAS momentarily distracted. He was always such a sucker for redheads, but then, what man isn't? Currently only invisible, he makes his way along the side of the building, before dropping his 'cloak of invisibility' as it were, and phasing. He sticks his head through the wall nearest him, in order to see whatever there might be to see, or at least make sure he could enter unseen. He hadn't noticed Sandman with his own Fedora on the roof, too distracted was he by the aforementioned carrot top. The other guards though are encountered along his way, and avoided with some semblance of sneakiness. Seeing nothing directly on the otherside of the wall, he slips through as silent as his moniker, and stays to whatever shadows might be present. Aw, man. "Aww, man!" Gabby repeats her thought outloud. Looks like Tony was drunker than she thought. Should have known better, to be honest. She's just used to the cob-webs clearing from her head so fast, sometimes she forgets other people don't have her... Resilience. In her annoyance, her Irish accent starts to leak out a bit as she replies. "Well, that's friggin' great. I've no problem leavin' the beer. It's not gon' t' be cold much longer anyway. But ya' sure there's no Rocko?" A sigh. "Ah, well!" Then she holds out the case. Her senses are sharp. Very sharp. But they aren't superhuman and it's likely she misses some of the subtler goings-on here. Maybe she's aware there's others in the area, maybe she's not. But she doesn't feel like pressing the issue is safe. And as much as she doesn't mind a fight, picking a fight with mafia when she's trying to maintain a tenuous peace with them for the safety of others seems unwise even to the hot-tempered shortstack. "Well, enjoy with th' compliments of 'Fighting Irish'. An' if someone by the name of 'Rocko' does happen by, try an' save one for 'im, aye?" She doesn't think these guys are guarding a boarded up entrance for no reason, but she's not going to hang around and wait for the spiked beers to kick in. Yes, she spiked them. They still look like they haven't been opened yet unless one inspects them real close, preferably under a good light source. But drugging people to help get them to tell her what she knows is totally an acceptable strategy to Gabby. Once the beers are delivered, she's going to start heading back to her bike and then she'll be going home. As the little woman departs on her bike, Othello moves to a better location. A few moments is spent trying to locate the invisible man, but he soon realizes that this is a fruitless endeavor. Othello starts to hold a conversation in his mind with his "benefactors, "I do not understand why you brought me here tonight. It seems like you have already sent people here." Othello observes the two men again and thinks "Perhaps, someone needs diversion. Yes, I am good at diversions." Othello lifts his left pointer finger to trace the edge of his Fedora, "Let me bring honor to you." Reaching for one of the pockets on her belt, Huntress pauses and mutters a faint curse. "I'm gonna have to around to the far side and get in close from there, HAL. I'm out of those little stick-on bugs." The ones she's used in the past to place in good listening spots with the help of a well-aimed bolt. No chance of that this time, though, so she backs carefully away from the edge of her given rooftop then starts going around to try and gain access to Williams and McCall's rooftop from the opposite side. Fingers crossed no one notices her. The mooks in front of the building don't actually open the beers immediately. Their intention is to take them back to the 'clubhouse' later to enjoy. Because McCall would shoot them herself if she smelled alcohol on their breath while they're supposed to be on duty. The woman doesn't mess around with her security. At all. Inside the building, however, the Ghost will happen upon something rather alarming. The entire first floor has been rigged with explosives. Oh, they're not obvious, by any means. But to a man that can phase through walls, and thus see what a casual observer might miss? The building is rigged to implode. Professionally rigged, in fact. Sure, the technology is a little more advanced, now, than it was 70 some odd years ago, but the effect is the same. And the timer on the pack nearest to him suggest he has 10 seconds to haul his insubstantial ass back out of that building before it goes up like a fourth-of-July firecracker. And, indeed, 10 seconds later, whether or not Ghost has escaped, there is a rumble, a burst of fire out of the lower windows of the building, which sends glass and shrapnel all over the place and a thick cloud of concrete dust skyward. The mooks in front of the doors with their beer? They're not going to have to worry about whether or not they've still got a job come morning... But, Gabby may want to thank her lucky stars she didn't stick around to find out, either. As her surveillance feeds show Oracle the first flash of destruction, thermals lighting up like way too excessive Christmas displays, she swears. "Huntress! Get out of there! Get to cover, now!" True. The Ghost doesn't know C-4 from dynamite. But he DOES know what a clock ticking down usually means, and 10 second? Yeah, it's time to take a powder. He's never been phased during an explosion, at least not that he can consciously recall. There was that one time, during the london blitz...He does indeed turn tail and haul his fedora wearin' trench-coat stylin' myster-man kiester right the heck out of there...sadly, not before the explosion goes off, and the shockwave actually THROWS him several tens of feet from the blast. The only thing keeping him from pushing up daisies at this point was the fact that he WAS phased. He lands with an audible "AUOOF" going solid instinctually as he hits the ground, and does the ole duck and cover, protecting his head, as they'd taught him wayyyyyyy back in boot camp. The Sandman feels the explosion wash over him, the heat of the fireball coming up just short of his position, the flash of light reflecting off of the protective lenses of his gasmask, eerie and orange and luminous. He doesn't move, keeping himself still as he watches the other figures either thrown or leaping away from the explosion, even noting the mysterious delivery girl who came and went so shortly before the blast. Huntress he'd already spotted, and he's thankful that Helena, at least, hadn't gotten fully into the radius of the blast...unless, of course, she moved in faster than he'd expected. Impulsive as she is, he hopes she hasn't cooked herself. He keeps an eye on the building, trying to measure the intensity of the flames, to see if there is any chance of survivors. Sandman doesn't mind putting himself at risk, even for less than moral individuals, but he also would measure that risk carefully against a likelihood of success. Othello stands up is about to come into view of the men standing outside, when the explosions goes off. "Obviously, you did not send me here for a diversion!" Othello shouts and dives out the way for cover. He continues ducking and dodging for cover until he ends up a couple of feet away from The Silver Ghost." Othello shouts, "I hate Gotham!" Huntress is about halfway around to her chosen rooftop entry point when Oracle suddenly barks in her ear. "Wha... hoshit!" Really, all she can do at this point is throw herself to the gravel roofing, put her hands over her ears, close her eyes tightly, and hope the building she's on doesn't follow its neighbor across the street. "...the fuck was that, HAL?" And then a wash of cement and brick dust makes it up over the edge of the rooftop and she ends up coughing. "Someone just blew up the freakin' building!" Oracle tells Huntress, even as the vigilante starts to cough. "I can't tell how extensive the damage is, but you need to get yourself off the rooftops, now." Just in case. She doesn't want Helena caught in a secondary collapse or spreading fire. "Get yourself clear, catch your breath, and then see about civilians in need of help." When the building does explode, however, there's a mad scramble in several buildings across and along the street as several of McCall's henchmen launch themselves into futile action. (And chances are at least one of them will have marked Gabby's face, the 'delivery girl', as a potential trigger for the explosion. Too bad, she's got no way of knowing that, at the moment.) Still, those on the street and surrounding rooftop should now see that there were probably 8 or 10 hired guns surveilling the meet. Popular place, tonight. Go figure. The Ghost waits for the dust to clear, having noticed Othello landing next to him, and calling out. He lifts his head, looks at the other man, stands up, brushes himself off, and looks around quickly before grunting in Othello's direction "Nice hat...." and then turning toward the imploded building, standing there thoughtfully. He's not concerned with the hired guns at the moment, or any guards who might see him and decide to start shooting. He seems more concerned with the rubble that had recently been the building. "There was a bomb inside....saw it just before it went off....whole place was rigged." he says, as if Othello was his old buddy old pal. He begins trudging toward the collapsed building now, perhaps to search for any survivors of the blast who might be trapped in the rubble. When Huntress starts to pull herself together, blinking the grit and smoke from her eyes, she finds The Sandman standing next to her. He has a crisp, white handkerchief outstretched in a gloved hand, his head cocked at a jaunty angle, the soft rasp of his breathing hard to hear in the wake of the explosion. What isn't hard to hear is his voice, the distortion caused by a device in his mask making his speech sound chitinous and surreal, even if the words, in this case are relatively mundane. "YoU hAvE sOmE AsH oN yOuR FaCe, HunTREsS," he says. "ThE ExPloSioN sEemEd To CoMe fRoM a SiNglE StoRy. I dO nOt ExPeCt mUcH iN tHe WaY oF sUrViVoRs, bUt wE sHoUlD cHecK, wHeN yOu HaVe rEgaInEd yoUR coMpOsUre." "Thank you, it is a classic." Othello stands up and observes the building, "Well, it was either explosion, or someone really bad dry wall." His attention shifts away from the building to the henchman that are keeping surveillance on this meeting. Othello clenches his fists and heads in their direction, "You look for survivors, and I will try to persuade some really angry people that we had nothing to do with blowing up a building." "Right." Huntress coughs again, then startles when she looks up at Sandman is THERE. "Damnit, don't sneak up on me like that." She accepts the handkerchief, though, as she stands. Using the white fabric to keep from breathing still more of the slowly settling dust, she tells the gas-masked man ina muffled voice, "Oracle says to get off the roof in case this building took structural damage. We should move." Whether the man follows or not, she heads directly away from the epicenter of the explosion, guessing that the next building back will have been completely unaffected and therefore safe enough to use to climb down. No way she's using a potentially compromised building. That's just stupid. "HAL, any chance of those two on the roof having survived that?" "I don't see how," Oracle says to Huntress. "My models here show that the folded in on itself like a house of cards. And the fires are going to make it really hard to get anyone in to the center of the pile to see if there's anyone laying in the midst of anything there. But, my original thermals suggest that the building was unoccupied, except for Williams and McCall, and the goon squad at the door." Which doesn't mean don't search for survivors. It means don't hold your breath about finding any. "I see a scramble down at street-level, though. Looks like more than just we were looking at this place, tonight." And, indeed, at street-level, there isn't a lot to be done. Fires burn across the rubble and the dust, though settling, is thick, and will be thick for the next couple of hours at least. It might be possible to fish one or even both of the door guards out of the mess... though what condition they're in isn't likely good. McCall's people, however, are, as Othello suspects, seriously pissed by this turn of events. They're also torn. Some want to go see if she can be pulled out of the rubble. Most, however, think getting the hell outta dodge is a better plan. If there's anyone who CAN get into the center of the pile unscathed, it would be the Ghost, and it looks like that might be what he intends, as he continues walking, at a brisk but not hurried pace directly toward the pile of rubble, avoiding the flames as best he can. He's still not sure how that would work with his phasing ability, and not willing to test it right now in any case. He begins to wade into the flotsom as if it were less of an impediment than blades of grass. The Sandman looks down upon the scurrying miscreants, taking them in as the flames leap higher. He feels an intuition, a wavelength of the universe spilling into the back of his mind, letting him know that someone, perhaps someone unseen, is already attending to any survivors. These sorts of insights seem odd and out of place, but Sandman has grown accustomed to them, the Dreaming guiding him on his path with intuition and insight and instinct. Just never with, y'know, actual directions or words. He reaches into his pocket, looking back at Huntress, "We sHaLl hAvE fRuIt tO HaRvEst." he says. From his pockets, he drops grenades, four of them, each of them hitting the ground amidst the fleeing thugs and exploding into massive clouds of grey-green smoke, the potency and dosage enough to knock a running human, especially an already exerted and oxygen deprived one, flat in a matter of seconds. He descends quickly, his longcoat flapping as he descends a drainpipe and finds himself amongst the gassed, flicking a kick with casual grace into the chin of one coughing, choking suspect, "SuRrEnDeR yOuRsElVeS tO jUsTiCe." Othello was reaching behinds his back for his knives, when he sees The Sandman drop some gas grenades on some of the men. Othello smirks behind his mask, "It seems that you have the choice to surrender tonight." One of the men reaches for his gun, Othello tackles the man, knocking the gun from his hand, then putting him in an arm lock. There is a "snap' sound heard, when the arm breaks. Othello quickly rolls off the man, looking down at the man. "It would be incorrect way for you to leave this place without a permanent reminder of your folly." Huntress says, "So much for the intel," Huntress quips as she makes it to the far rooftop. She coughs one last time and turns to look at Sandman, belatedly realizing that he didn't follow her. Oh well. She pockets the handkerchief and moves faster, then, knowing she doesn't have to wait for anyone to keep up with her. It's the matter of a few moments and she's running back toward the scene of the explosion, handkerchief over her face again. Note to self: get one of those nifty little SCBA things like the Bat has. She has to stop short, though, because she knows only too well what that green gas is." Ghost's investigation into the center of the destruction might reveal a hand or foot sticking out of the rubble on top. But, there are no survivors. There was no one in the building other than Williams and McCall. And they're well buried, now. In the distance, sirens can be heard. An explosion usually elicits a fairly quick response from Gotham's first responders. The men Sandman gasses are out like lights fairly quickly. The men Othello faces aren't likely a match for his highly trained combat abilities. At least, most of them aren't. And Huntress' descent is unimpeded. In the chaos, only two men escape, one on foot and one on the back of a motorcycle over on the next street. And of whomever set the explosives, there is no sign. The Ghost does indeed hunt through the rubble, but upon finding the severely crushed, and likely gory remains of the two occupants of the building, he just turns, and trudges out of the pile again, in the general direction that Othello had been in, since he's the only non-goon looking one The Ghost had made note of as yet. Upon getting clear of the building, he can hear the sirens, and growls "Get clear, fella....nobody's left alive in there, and I dunno about you, but I don't wanna have to explain to the bulls who I am, or why I was here...." he says and makes to leave, when he pauses, seeing Huntress, and another VERY well dressed fella, tilting his head. "Y'know, I may have to think about relocating...seems folks around here really know how to dress...." he quips to himself, and begins jogging idly for a nearby alleyway to fade from view. The Sandman nods to Othello, acknowledging the other vigilante with a tip of his hat as the other man breaks an arm. At least he's not slitting throats. Sandman does so hate having to fight other vigilantes because they go too far, it's so unseemly. Speaking of vigilantes who go too far, he rather hopes Huntress has managed to sort out whatever mission the Voice from Beyond has put her on. He'll have to ask her to update him on whatever information she was here seeking. For now, he contents himself with stomping on a few fingers as they reach for a fallen switchblade, his coat releasing another wave of his gas, creating a fog into which he vanishes, slowly easing back into the green-grey mist, knowing the barely conscious criminals are seeing him through a hallucinatory haze, "CoNSiDeR yoUrSelVeS LuCkY. EnJoY yOuR cAGeS." Othello finishes providing lessons to several men, then turns to answer The Ghost, "Neither do I. There are only two places that you don't want to end up in jail. One is Mexico, and the other is Gotham." Othello returns the tip of the hat to The Sandman before he looks around for a best escape route. He quickly makes his way down an alley way. Huntress can't get any closer because of the gas (on top of the still settling smoke and dust from the explosion). "HAL, I can't get any closer." She coughs again then backs away toward the clearer air of the next block over. "Too much crap in the air including some of Sandman's special blend. I'm heading back to you unless you want something else from here." Barring any other instructions from Oracle, she hurries back to where she left her Ducati and speeds away toward the Clocktower. She'll have to return Sandman's handkerchief to him another time. Category:Log